


Appletini

by Measured



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bars and Pubs, Bartenders, Blow Jobs, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured/pseuds/Measured
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nice jeans. I can't wait to see what's under them," Francis said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appletini

He was twenty-one, completely legal to do like, everything and he hadn't stepped a foot away from the bar since he laid eyes on the bartender. It was some French dude, who'd probably be more at home pouring some dom perginwhatever, or something else all high class and shit.   
But the guy didn't look too put out. In fact, he seemed perpetually amused by everything around him, in this detached, superior sort of way.

Which was, frankly, hot. Really hot. Not that the dude was lacking on the hot scale to begin with, and what topped it off, was that the guy knew that he had a really nice ass, silky blond curls, a body to die for–the whole thing, really. 

"How can I help you?" he said, ignoring two totally hot girls to give Alfred his full attention.

"What do you suggest?" Alfred said. He tried to sound suave. Admittedly, Alfred might as well put an _I am a total virgin in alcohol and like, everything else, please fuck me accordingly_ on his forehead in neon flashing sign the minute he started asking the bartender about drinks. 

"That's a dangerous thing to ask, _monsieur_ ," the bartender said smoothly. "Alcohol is quite expensive. I could bankrupt you right out of your pants."

You wouldn't have to _bankrupt_ me to get my pants off, he thought.

The bartender looked even more amused, though he shouldn't have, given that he didn't speak it out loud. Or...

"...I said that out loud, didn't it?" Alfred said.

"Yes, _monsieur._ You did," he said.

The bartender traced a line around the rim of a plastic cocktail glass, the type they apparently give to their more drunk or clumsier patrons. Bent over like that, Alfred had a hard time not imagining himself behind the guy, his hands on his hips, making him scream in pleasure as he thrust into him again and again. Not that he knew anything about that other than porno and fantasy, but hey, it was his fantasy, he could be a sex god if he wanted. He just caught sight of a name tag which the flashing lights had obscured. _Francis_.

"How about a deal? I'll make you some, and—"

He was cut off as another pair of hot girls (they always came in groups, for some reason) came up, and Francis turned his attention to them. Alfred couldn't hear what they ordered over the music. Alfred knew he was making the fish face–the same face that he tended to make for a few seconds when Mattie brought home awesome grades, before he yelled out that he was quitting school to go be batman.

But before he could think of ways to batman around and keep Francis's delicious sexy gaze on him, Francis was pushing drinks towards the girls, and then pushing one of the same towards him.

"As I was saying, I'd give you a few drinks–"

"So like, samples?" Alfred said.

"No, you'd still be paying full price," Francis said. He traced his finger on the bar just in front of Alfred. It was reflective and silvery, and his hands were verrrryy close to Alfred's own.

"But, I'd need to know more before I give you some. Your tastes, your preferences, yourself...."

"Like, my life story? I thought you bartenders totally heard everyone's life stories," Alfred said. 

"Well, some are more interesting than others," Francis said. He gave Alfred a suggestive smile.

"Then I'll make it _extra awesome_!" Alfred said.

"But first, your drink," Francis said. He pushed the light greenish drink closer. It smelled sweet, familiar, like....

"Apples?" Alfred said.

"An Appletini," Francis said. "You seem the sort to like sweet things."

Alfred tipped that drink back and guzzled the fuck out of it.

"Sip, sip–" Francis said as Alfred coughed. "It's got vodka, cher. It's going to hit hard."

It was sweet, but holy fuck, did it pack a punch. He liked the apple taste, the sweetness, but there was this aftertaste that was like a kick to the chest.

"Can I have something that doesn't have vodka in it?" Alfred said between coughs. "I never was too keen on Russia anyways. After Russian lit and Russian history 101, I think I kinda hate the place on principle."

It took him a half novel of confusion before he realized that the Russians had this habit of nicknames. He'd proceeded to write his paper on that. Spoilers: he'd read the Fucking Brothers Karamazov and not gotten it through the whole thing and gotten a D. He'd have gotten an F, but his professor liked him.

Francis chuckled. "Fine, no more vodka. But it'll have to be light liquor." 

"So there's like, evil liquor too? You mean I was just one drink away from joining the Sith Lords?"

Francis only smiled a bit at this. Alfred faltered at that. He wasn't sure he could marry someone who didn't go for Star Wars. But hey, there was always chance to show Francis the awesomeness later, so all cool.

Francis reached behind the bar and messed with...stuff. Glasses and mystic potions and stuff, and then, like he was a wizard, Francis put a different drink in front of him.

"This one is, as you would surely put it, 'all American'," Francis said.

Alfred drank it down, and he had to admit that it was pretty cool. He gave Francis his best _I am a hero_ grin with extra flirtiness.

"How did you know I was American? Maybe I was a really crafty Canadian?" Alfred said.

"Cher, you've got cowboy hat and a shirt which says _Proud to be an American_ on top of an American flag. If you are Canadian, then you're either one of these _ironic hipsters_ , or going through an identity crisis," Francis drawled.

"I could totally be a hipster," Alfred said, knocking back his next drink. So this was Tequila, damn if it didn't wake you up.

The song in the background, which he hadn't been paying attention until then, changed over to something different.

"Ooh, Flo Rida, my favorite!" Alfred exclaimed.

Francis was giving him this faintly amused smile.

"I'd have to be a really ironic hipster," Alfred said. "Who listens to Flo Rida. Ironically."

"Ah, cher. I don't think irony is your thing. Now adorable charm, mixed who the looks of an American golden boy, and the body of a sports star...that's much easier to play. And then you wouldn't have to grow a beard and dress like a hobo," Francis said.

"I could totally rock a beard if I wanted, but you'd have to kill me to get rid of my ironic band tees," Alfred said.

Francis had said he was hot...basically, in this sort of long way, but still. Francis thought he was hot! Alfred beamed. "Good, now I don't have to ironically smoke clove cigarettes."

"Oh, it's a bad habit, cher. You should do other things with that pretty mouth of yours," Francis said.

Whoa, was that a leer? Was that an oral implication? So, Alfred kind of sucked at getting finer points. He got dumped twice because of it in high school. But Francis seemed to get this, or something, or maybe he was just sexually blunt because Alfred was getting the between the lines. And he was liking it. A lot.

He was just about to cut in with something witty–even _brilliant_ –but another group came in. Some dudes wanted some beers, which was easy as he just had to pull them out and stuff. The girls asked for things he couldn't quite hear. They were pretty enough, but honestly, Alfred thought Francis was the belle of the ball–of _any_ ball, really. Which largely summed up why he was being a horrible bro and wingman and spending his evening chatting up the bartender. 

Also, maybe he had a fetish for those uniforms. If he didn't, he did now. 

It was kind of a quiet night, otherwise these interruptions would be coming a whole lot more. Also there was this other bartender, a big guy with spiky hair and a perpetual frown. But he had this biker, bad boy sort of charm which made the girls flock his way.

"Ahh, usually it's his sister who's on duty. I get mistaken more for her sister than him," Francis said conversationally as he cleaned a glass. "I suppose we are rather alike, though honestly, to mistake her accent for mine..." he shook his head.

Alfred didn't get thing about what Francis was talking about, but it was cool. It was nice just watching his mouth as he formed the words, to listen to the sweet sound of his accent, and how dextrous his hands were as he cleaned the glass, making it sparkling again. Man, he'd never make fun of the French again. 

He bit on the corner of his mouth. "Ah, I miss it ever since they passed that damnable law," Francis said with a sigh.

"Huh? Which one?" Alfred said.

"Non-smoking. Schuyler wasn't too fond of it either," he said, nodding over to where the other bartender was doing his thing. "Sometimes, I'd just kill to have something in my mouth. Anything, really..."

Francis leaned in, a suggestive smile on his pretty lips. And damn, Alfred got that implication too, and now he was imagining those lips around his cock. Was it weird that the hottest thing about that image was that he'd finally get to touch those pretty curls of Francis's? He'd been dying to all evening.

"I'm on break in a bit. Do you want to keep me company? I do so hate to be lonely," Francis said. Every word was said too casually, so casually that it was dripping suggestiveness.

"Would I ever!" Alfred burst out. 

"Good," Francis said. He slid back up and called out to the other bartender. The Schulyer guy didn't come up immediately, and Francis muttered something about damnable Germanics. Eventually, he came back.

"He'll cover me. I covered his last smoking break, after all," Francis said. 

Okay, add smoking to the list of new fetishes or kinks or whatever. Damn, maybe he shouldn't have sprung for the skinny emo gay boy jeans that made his ass look so good. According to Gilbert, he might as well have a _I suck cocks_ tramp stamp. Francis leaned over and gave him a reaaal thorough look, like he was imagining him without those pants and generally liking what he saw. So yeah, those pants were definitely a good choice.

"Nice jeans. I can't wait to see what's under them," Francis said. 

Alfred just froze at that. Like, his brain shut off, except for a large firework though of _dude, this guy is AWESOME_.

Okay, so he totally preferred people blunt. Rather than say, finding out that their sudden passive-aggressive crankiness was not in fact caused by the dreaded PMS or lack of chocolate. Though he sympathized with the latter. He totally felt cranky whenever he was lacking in awesome food. 

Francis smiled in this enigmatic sort of way. "Shall we go?"

"Sure!" Alfred said. He offered his arm, like he was leading a girl to the prom. Francis took one look at him and shook his head in this sort of affectionate exasperated way.

"You are something else, you know that?"

"That's what my brother keeps saying," Alfred said. 

Still, Francis took his arm, all bemused like and stuff. He walked Francis out like he was taking him on a grand date, and not to the alley to fuck like oh, what fucked in alleys? Cats? Hobos? Hobocats? Hipsters? 

_Note to self: take Francis on a Grand Date_ he added mentally. Yes, the capitalization was intentional. The hypothetical future date was _just that awesome_.

It was...alley-like. Dark, dank, only _slightly_ smelling of piss and old alcohol, with like, boxes and shit all over the place. But not actual shit, thankfully. Looking around, he sort of wished he had candles, or maybe a guy playing the accordion while singing about the moon being like a pizza pie–or was that love? Damn if that song didn't always make him hungry.

On second thought, natch the beefy hairy dude with the accordion.

"So, like," Alfred said. 

Francis looked at him, with one brow raised. "I take it you don't do this often?"

"Nope! You're the first," Alfred said with a big grin. Wait, he wasn't going to say that.

Francis pushed a curly gold strand out of his face. "Really, now? I'll take good care of you.'

Alfred had barely managed to squeak out a _that's cool_ when Francis was _on him_. He was up against the wall, kissing him with one hand rubbing his cock through his jeans, and the other well, feeling up whatever he could. And oh god, it was up there with burger good. Maybe even better. Francis's mouth was bittersweet with a faint taste of cigarettes and alcohol, and the things he was doing with his tongue– _holy fuck._

"Francis— _Francis_ –" he gasped.

"You want to stop?" Francis asked.

"Oh _hell_ no," Alfred said. "Please never, ever stop."

Francis's lips were almost just over his, Alfred could feel the roughness of his beard on his face. "I have to go back to my shift eventually."

Francis curled his lip as he looked down at the really dirty alley. Without even a thought, Alfred whipped off his jacket and _threw it on the ground_. Hey, he was classy and shit! _A real gentleman._

"Thank you," Francis said. 

"No problem, that's what heroes do," Alfred said. 

Francis got on his knees and unzipped Alfred's jeans. He took a moment to grope Alfred's ass as he did, and Alfred was super pleased. He liked to say his ass was his best asset–wink, wink, get it?

He might've even said that out loud, a _hey, dude, thanks for appreciating my ass_ but then Francis was touching his cock and holy shit, what were words? What was anything but the feeling of Francis running his tongue over the head of Alfred's cock? Hell if Alfred knew! He leaned against the wall, his breath coming in shallow pants as the sensations kept coming and getting more and more awesome. Nobody told him sex was this cool. Okay, everyone said it was amazing and the best thing ever _but no one told him that not only was it the best thing ever, but with a burger on top as well!_

Francis started to hum—was that Frere Jacques?–and swallowed his cock deeper than Alfred thought possibly. No, seriously, that only happened in the movies. You know, the ones on cinemax. The bricks were cold against his back and not exactly comfy, but he just did not give a shit, because Francis looked so gorgeous sucking him off, and it felt like nothing he had ever felt before. Sure, he'd wanked off, Gilbert said he was a pro wanker at this rate, but this was like going 3D after years of 2D.

He started panting harder, Francis was picking up the pace—his shift must be coming up. Alfred just could not handle this barrage of sexiness, with the streetlights catching light on Francis's curls and the feel of his tongue driving him mad. His cock was throbbing with pleasure as he came in Francis's mouth.

He would have to see the guidebook of heroes to check out the appropriate blowjob etiquette. Seriously, did you say thank you, or offer to do a reach around, or say _take me now,_ or? Alfred just didn't know.

Alfred's first thought when Francis was unzipping his pants was _Oh my god, marry me_

"A bit early for that, isn't it, _cher_?" Francis said.

"...Did I say that aloud?" Alfred said.

Francis nodded. He picked up the coat and handed it to Alfred, and leaned in to kiss Alfred on the cheek. "I'll tell you what, I'm off on Monday. I'll let you take me out and pay back the favor, _d'accord?_ "

"I will be there if I have to fight zombies to do it," Alfred said, with epic hero level determination. If this were an anime, he would've been _surrounded in flames_ –that badass, yes.

Francis smiled at him, and his whole face lit up. "You're really adorable, and I have to say, you've got a nice cock. I'll be looking forward to it."

He pulled out a pen and wrote a number on Alfred's arm. Then he disappeared back into the club. Alfred swayed drunkenly home, his coat on his arm. He was already narrowing down what superheroes to name their adopted children after.


End file.
